COMPLEMENTARY COLORS
by Shrike
Summary: one shot - GER/ITA relationship crisis, featuring Spain


COMPLEMENTARY COLORS

I.

Living room was a mess when Ludwig returned home.

Feliciano working usually meant that Ludwig would have a hard time cleaning used brushes and painting utensils left behind, not to mention blotches of paint that stubbornly stuck to his furniture. Today Ludwig found his roommate sitting by a window, lost in a daydream. His attempts at work laid in trash, canvases half-finished and cast away.

Feliciano barely registered Ludwig's return and gave him a passing wave instead of a proper greeting. He could not focus on work today, too many thoughts swirled in his mind making his hand tremble and ideas blur.

"Not a good day for painting?" Ludwig asked with a hint of a smile, which disappeared when he got no response. He frowned noticing a cigarette in corner of Feliciano's mouth „You know I don't like it when you smoke at my house. "

He plucked it out and extinguished on paint palette next to smeared blotch of navy blue. Feliciano got up and slapped the taller man's cheek without blinking.

"Don't ever do that again."

Germany sighed, his gaze lowered, red hand imprint already showing on his cleanly shaven face, "It doesn't suit you. You look like a child trying to act as a grownup."

"Well I am no child, am I!" Feliciano defiantly shouted. He was aware such outburst only made him appear more childish and hated himself for it. Ludwig's eyes look pained but he dropped the subject. Things have been bad between two of them lately and seemed to escalate ever faster.

"We could go out somewhere, they are predicting a warm night." he suggested conciliatory.

Italy shrugged and gazed through the window into dusk. Sun was setting fast in autumn. "I've got other plans."

"Oh?" Ludwig seemed surprised but didn't push on. Feliciano knew he was too polite to inquire even though they have been living together. Instead he began scrolling unused canvases and arranging tubes of paint in their boxes, moving efficiently and busily. It was his way to deal with frustration.

Feliciano lazily turned towards window again, following Ludwig's reflection on the glass and calculating how much time he still had before he had to leave. Waiting made him nervous. He wanted to light another cigarette but didn't want to go through the tirade with Ludwig again. He felt bad about hitting him but not enough to apologize. It wasn't always like that.

Before, he used to study Germany's body for hours, fascinated, admiring his physique, painting dance of light and shadows that played across his features, adoring him with his brush, hands, body. He was drawn to him by his iron will, discipline, the way he got things done. When he looked at his lover now, all he saw was something he would never be. He was painfully aware of his thin arms, skinny legs, feeble voice, boyish look. Nobody will ever admire him for his strength, fear his decisions, take his opinion into account. Nobody, except Ludwig.

Feliciano started hating him because of that, seeing it as the big man's weakness.

This was not something Feliciano had planned. It was still summer with its long days and lively nights as one evening the two of them were returning from a market, Ludwig carrying all the grocery bags, Feliciano tagging along, half-listening to Germany's monologue on preparations for cold weather. They passed a café terrace on one corner and somebody called out Ludwig's name. A tall, military-type man, whom Italy vaguely recognized as Ludwig's older brother, addressed him in their native language. By his shrill laughter and the look on Ludwig's face Italy guessed it was probably supposed to be a joke and not one of a particularly good taste. Germany shook his head in disapproval and hastily moved along, suddenly silent and gloomy. Feliciano followed, casting one last glance at the sitting trio.

It was a mere second, something he would have missed had he blinked at that very moment, but his eye caught enigmatic gaze of one of the joker's companions. While Ludwig's brother and Francis, whom Feliciano knew from before, continued laughing, the third man observed Feliciano with a slight, tantalizing smile on his lips. Although he emanated calm, his clear eyes were piercing.

A year ago, Feliciano would have laughed at the idea. Six months ago he wouldn't have given it another thought. Now those emerald eyes on sun-burned skin, slender frame and gracious posture haunted his dreams.

"Have you been painting bullfights?" Ludwig's voice startled him from reverie. The blonde was standing next to easel, admiring a painting Feliciano had been working on. His eyes widened as he fought to suppress a wave of panic and guilt.

"Yeah." he strove to say it nonchalantly, "Practicing to paint movement. What do you think?"

Their eyes met, Ludwig's solid ice-blue gaze and Feliciano's skittish hazel orbs, for a moment maybe just a bit too long, before Germany replied. "I cannot tell, I have yet to see what will come out of it."

Feliciano nodded neutrally and started to get dressed. It was still too early, but he couldn't stand to be around Ludwig tonight. His presence made him feel nervous and guilty which, in turned, made him angry at him. So he would walk a bit, clear his thoughts, turn a new leaf.

"I will be back for dinner. Maybe." Italy slammed the door behind him and walked briskly down the street to leave his nagging conscience behind.

II.

"So…" Spain prompted idly while lying stark naked on a bed, a single sheet loosely draped around his narrow hips. He was like that, seemingly unaware of his nudity, when Feliciano came to the hotel room - the arranged meeting place. By the look of his complexion, Antonio was used to exposing his body to the Sun, reminding Feliciano of his brother. He suppressed the thought. He heard rumors that Spain and Romano had been messing around and had mixed feelings about it.

"So?" Italy felt awkward standing before a naked stranger. Still, he stole a glance of Antonio's torso and hands raised to support his head of unruly auburn locks. He appeared wiry muscled, not skinny like Italy but far from Germany's brawn and Feliciano found the scene appealing.

"Are you going to stand there all night? At least take your clothes off." he flashed him that same smile that bored into Feliciano's fantasies and he was, again, disarmed. He got out of his garments and left them on the floor where they fell.

"You look like your brother." the lying man remarked.

"I am noting like my brother." Feliciano wanted to growl but his voice came out like a whisper. He held his chin up and joined Spain on the bed, faking confidence, enduring the inquiring gaze across his body. With Germany, even in the beginning, he never felt so scrutinized and insecure. Maybe because that poor sap was too hopelessly shy to openly look at him for months after they first hooked up. If it weren't for Feliciano's insisting, they would probably still make love in dark.

The two men sat on the bed for couple of moments, silence between them dragging on.

"Why did you call me here?" Spain's tone was bordering with boredom, his gaze sliding across the room, interest in a prospect lover's body lost.

"I wanted to be with someone who is more like me." Feliciano squeezed out, surprised by his own frankness.

"So you came to me?" Spain laughed loudly, genuinely amused. "Don't get me wrong, compañero," he added, "If that's what you came for, it won't work."

Feliciano scowled at Antonio's remark but pressed on. "I want more passion…"

"Pasión?" Antonio lifted his pronounced eyebrows, studying him, "Are you sure?"

Feliciano feebly nodded, steeling himself for crossing of the line of no return. Suddenly Antonio's tanned body was on him, nimbly straddling him, his long arms pinning his down with ease. Pressure of his long fingers around Feliciano's wrists seemed unnecessarily exceeded, what looked like a slim body now sat like a stone on his belly and once alluring eyes somehow gave off a different, ominous glint. Italy knew where he saw that look before, from when he was studying photographs for his bullfight paintings.

It was a glare of a matador, triumphing over a defeated opponent, preparing to strike.

Italy squirmed under Spain's weight, but couldn't shake him off. His hands started to go numb and panic flowed through his body. Germany, with all his superior strength, would never use it against Feliciano like this. He almost called out Ludwig's name, begging him for help, but bit his tongue in time.

"Let me go." Italy commanded, hoping that trembling of his voice wasn't too obvious.

For couple of eternally long seconds Antonio didn't move, just kept his killer's orbs fixated on Feliciano, his crushing weight on his slight body. The dread conceived in Italy's gut now threatened to swallow him whole. Germany would never scare him like this.

"Please!" he squealed, painfully aware how weak he sounded. His whole body was shaking like a leaf on a wind. "Please…"

Suddenly, Spain's teeth flashed on his dark face. Was a look of contempt etched there? Feliciano didn't care. He needed to be far away from here, away from this unfamiliar body and predatory games, bundled up in security of _his_ arms.

"Told you it wouldn't work." Antonio was back to his languid self, sitting by Feliciano's body and resting an arm on his bent leg. "You were right; you really are nothing like your brother." The lascivious smile on the handsome face suddenly made Feliciano sick. He got up, picked up his clothes and dressed in the hall on his way to staircase.

III.

When he opened the door, he was surprised to find it unlocked. Germany usually fretted about such things. No main lights were on, just the reading lamp in living room, casting cone of light on Ludwig's sitting form. There was a book on his lap, but it was turned on its face and had been so for who knows how long. He was waiting for Italy's return, studying him with unreadable expression as Feliciano sneaked into the room.

Ludwig's eyes were red but he didn't say a thing.

"Buona sera." Italy mouthed, his voice trailing off before last syllable.

"I couldn't sleep so I…" Ludwig began quietly, raising the book in justification. "I thought I could read..." Lying was never his strong point.

Feliciano suddenly saw him, really saw the man who was - a slave to discipline - up for hours after his bed time, waiting for him to come back from his traitorous rambles, hunched on a couch and shrouded by a blanket. The man whose powerful hands never hurt him, when they could have broken him like a twig. The man who, although probably sensing the truth, even now couldn't be angry with him. The man who loved him.

Italy's treason burned inside his stomach like a hot coal, choking him.

He stalked across the room where his unfinished painting still stood, grabbed top of the canvas, tore it off in one vehement motion and threw it to the floor. He stomped and kicked the crumpled sheet, fighting the stinging feeling beneath his closed eyelids. He was successful too, until he felt German's big, calming palms on his shoulders. He turned and buried his face in Ludwig's chest, basking in his familiar smell and warmth, letting tears of shame flow.

"Forgive me.." he gently sobbed in the great man's arms. "I was… I didn't…"

"Shhh." Ludwig held him close, patiently giving him all the time he needed. When he felt Feliciano had calmed down, he tenderly led him to bed and cupped his slender body in a protective embrace. Ludwig's tolerance wasn't a weakness, he finally understood, it was love. He didn't need someone to copy his weaknesses. He needed somebody to lend him his strength.

Italy felt Ludwig's chest rhythmically rise and fall, lulling him to sleep, and the sensation made him smile for the first time in days. He was safe.

THE END


End file.
